


Cedar, Bergamot and Smoke

by sorbriquette



Series: Carry On Countdown 2018 [3]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Amortentia, Baz is a Ravenclaw and I will fight anyone who say otherwise, Baz is fking useless with emotions as per usual, Confessions, Gryffindor!Penny, Hufflepuff!Simon, Legit fking @ me, M/M, Ravenclaw!Baz, Some light mid air chats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 00:04:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16799716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorbriquette/pseuds/sorbriquette
Summary: titles are fking hardBasically my kinda late Hogwarts AU for the Carry On CountdownIn which Baz and Simon are in potions and Simon lets it slip what amortentia smells like to him.





	Cedar, Bergamot and Smoke

**Baz**

Snow comes stumbling into potions late, more than halfway through the lesson. He mumbles an apology to the professor and all but collapses into the seat beside me.

I look up from my cauldron for but a moment, still stirring lazy circles in it. It's basically done anyway. "Did you get held up fighting a dragon or something?" I sneer at him.

He just glowers at me, pulling out his textbook and slamming it on the desk with far more force than necessary. "Shut it."

He's late to most of his classes really but it's not like it matters, Davy won't have his precious protege getting in trouble for anything as trivial as missing half his class time. Snow's perpetual lateness is why we ended up sitting next to each other at all. Bunce is in this class too but Snow was ten minutes late on the first day and all the seats at her table were taken. Unfortunately, Dev, Niall and I had a spare seat.

He's a disaster, hopelessly flicking through his textbook to find the right page even though it's basically impossible for him to complete the potion before the end of class. Why he's even taking potions in 6th year I don't understand. He's awful at it. Maybe the mage is making him do it. Maybe because it doesn't involve any spells. He's awful at those too.

He rakes a hand through his bronze curls, they're an absolute mess and I'm sure he wouldn't be able to get his fingers through there at all if he weren't doing it all the time.

I've half a mind to ask Niall to switch with me because he sits opposite Snow. Maybe then I could indulge myself, steal glances at him over the top of my cauldron, taking in boring blue eyes and constantly chapped lips and the moles spattering his face and neck.

But to switch would be to risk exposing how pitifully I fancy him. So, I just settle for making snide comments and the occasional sideways glance at his profile.

"Amortentia," he mutters to himself, saying it like he's sounding it out.

I roll my eyes, "It's not like you'd be able to manage it, even if you did have the time."

"It's not like I’d be able to smell it over the stupid amounts of cologne you've gotten on," he snaps back in a hush like he thinks he's stumbled upon an amazing comeback.

For once, he does manage to get the better of me, though not for the reason he thinks.

I shift my gaze slowly from Snow to my  _ finished  _ potion. Then to Dev and Niall who seem for the most part oblivious to what Snow's just said, though that is probably for the best.

Then the hand I have stirring the cauldron stills and my eyes fall back onto Snow, waiting for it to click with him.

He glances up at me and thrusts his chin up like he's beckoning me to a fight (it wouldn't be the first time). "What?"

My mouth feels dry. I'm not sure I could find the words, even if I wanted to respond and I'm not sure if I knew the words if I'd manage to get them out. So, I just deepen my stare, raising an eyebrow pointedly.

I see the exact moment it dawns on him, eyes widening just a fraction, his mouth falling open a little wider. It's basically always open anyway, the mouth breather.

He seems to regain control of his body and promptly slams his textbook closed again, throwing his still open backpack over his shoulder and basically darting out the door.

The professor looks up from her desk and sighs. Late is one thing but charging out in the middle of the lesson is another. She levels her gaze at me for a moment, silently asking for an explanation.

I find my voice again and speak with enough confidence to ensure no one thinks I ever lost it. "He was feeling a bit sick."

"Thank you, Mr Pitch," she says, muttering something under her breath afterwards.

Dev and Niall exchange a look before turning to me. I raise an eyebrow at them now, daring them to question me. They both just shrug it off and go back to brewing.

I'll admit I'm usually the last person to back Simon Snow up, but after that it's not like I could just throw him under the bus.

After all, I think the potion smells like Hogwarts soap and smoke and cherry scones. And I don't even like scones.

**Simon**

Admittedly when I sprint out of potions, I don't make it very far before the entire contents of my bag spills on the floor and I have to stop and pick it up. My hands are shaking and I keep glancing up as I gather my things. I'm all but waiting for Baz to come stalking out of the classroom after me. To mock and tease and just be a general sadist.

But he doesn't come and I shove all my things in my bag before I have a chance to find out if he ever will.

I admit I spend more than most of the rest of the afternoon pouring over what I'm going to do. It doesn't matter, it's not like the professors call on me and I have enough classes with Penny that when they do she mutters the answer in my ear.

Merlin, she's smart, sometimes I think she knows everything. I probably would have failed my O.W.Ls and not been able to take  _ any  _ class this year if it weren't for Penny. I don't know how she ended up in Gryffindor instead of in Ravenclaw with Baz. I asked once and she'd just shrugged and rattled off something about there being no point in smarts if you don't use them to do brash things. 

I suppose for Penny they go hand in hand. Smart enough to figure out how to get into the Hufflepuff common room and  _ then  _ the boy's dorms to see me, reckless enough to actually do it. And more than once she's taken me out after hours to scour through the forbidden forest to find potion ingredients for something that's probably only going to be more trouble. Not that I mind, quite the opposite really.

Eventually, though, classes end and I have to face the grim reality that I am going to have to see Baz again in potions tomorrow.

So I suppose our options are either find and confront him today or suffer that in front of our potions class tomorrow.

Confront him? Merlin, I can't even confront myself about this.

It doesn't mean anything, the fact that I like the smell of his stupid cologne or shampoo or whatever it is. But the more I think about it the more my mind drifts to more definitive evidence. Like the way I've watched him stir his potions in class and wondered what his hand would feel like in mine. Or when he dips his head to look into his cauldron his hair falls forward, looking so bloody soft and multicoloured steam curls around him making him look more like some sort of ethereal being than ever. Less human.

I know he's not human. I've been telling people for years that he's a vampire. I wouldn't be surprised if what he smelt in that potion was human blood.

Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws get grouped together for most classes. So, I've had to not only suffer through classes that I most of the time can't manage, but I’ve had Baz in the same room, doing everything with a practised ease and taunting me whenever the professor is out of earshot.

It's ended in violence more than once. Baz is from a pureblood family but when I deck him, he punches right back, pretty well too. Most wizards wouldn't even consider throwing a punch, they always go for their wands. Baz usually goes for his wand. But I know I can't beat him in a duel, so when we fight it's easier just to hit him. I don't know why, but when I hit, he hits back. Maybe it's his way of trying to show me he can beat me in any kind of fight. Not that we've ever finished one, teachers usually arrive quite quickly, spell us apart and stick us in detention together to try and get along.

We've not had at it properly for a few years now though. That's probably for the best but right now I'm itching to take another swing at him. Or maybe something else. I try not to think too hard about what that something else might be.

Eventually, though, I do settle on a private confrontation and head out the Quidditch pitch. It's not like I haven't watched him train before. I used to do it a lot when I was on the lookout for signs of his vampirism.

He's seeker for the Ravenclaw team. He's good too. Flies with grace I've never seen before. Fast and agile and  _ vicious _ .

I'm pretty sure vampires have enhanced vision though, so surely having him on the team is cheating. When I accused him of it he just laughed in my face and said I was just being sore they'd beaten Hufflepuff.

I wasn’t being sore. It's not like I think we'd win if Ravenclaw lost their star seeker. I just think it's unfair. Besides, I don't even play for our team. Don't have the time.

I don't watch them train this time though, after our earlier altercation, I doubt that would help my case. So, I turn up at the end of practice and catch him by the arm as he's walking off the pitch. "Can we talk?"

His teammates stop and look at me, no doubt ready to defend him if I'm about to attack him again. I still haven't decided if I'm going to attack him or not.

He gives a quick nod to the rest of the team and they file inside the changerooms. "Okay," he says turning his gaze on me, cold and unreadable but for once not mocking.

"Somewhere private."

He raises an eyebrow but relents with an exaggerated sigh. "Hop on." He seats himself on his broom and pats the spot in front of him.

I hesitate a moment eyeing him. Maybe this is another attempt on my life, he's going to fly us up and over the Quidditch pitch and then just let me fall to my death.

He looks like he's about to say something further but I eventually make my decision and swing my leg over the broom.

I close my eyes as I feel us lift off, suddenly terribly aware of the fact that I've put my life in Baz's hands. But between trying to ignore the feeling of my feet leaving the ground and the cool press of Baz's chest against my back and the way his arms press against my sides as he grips the broom in front of me, it's hard not to think about anything, even with all the practice I've had.

I feel us rising higher but I keep my eyes closed and try to keep my mind off Baz until he speaks and makes that impossible.

"Private enough for you?" he asks glancing out over the Quidditch pitch and the grounds.

We're far above the stands and my mind can't help but drift back to how easy it would be for Baz to just tilt his broom forward till I slide off the end and to my death. But somehow, in all of this, that is not what I find most concerning. "I suppose, I thought we'd go to the astronomy tower or something?"

"The astronomy tower?" I can practically hear Baz's eyebrow rise behind me, "You after a quick snog or something Snow?"

I sputter for a moment. Baz just laughs.

Is that what I want? I still haven't completely decided on this but I've never been good at deciding any time before the moment.

"I just think if we're going to talk, we should at least be facing each other," I manage out eventually, still stumbling over the words in my haste to defend myself.

Baz stills for a moment, not responding, but then he seems to make up his mind and gives a long sigh, "fine." But this time when we start moving again there's an arm around my waist. "Hold on this time, we're not just going up," he says as if to excuse the touch. As if he's waiting for me to protest it. Really it just helps me make up my mind.

I lean back against him a little, not quickly or harshly enough to set him off balance or send us off course, but enough that he knows whatever he's playing at, I'm reciprocating.

"You didn't tell the team?" I ask quietly, thinking back to the way they'd all looked at me like I was about to attack Baz. I still might. It's a bit much to push him off the astronomy tower but it's my turn to toss him down the stairs and there are a lot of stairs there.

He doesn't have to ask what I'm talking about. "I'm not going to out you, Snow," he snaps almost sounding offended behind the sneer in his voice.

It takes me a moment to process what he says. "I'm not gay," I protest after a moment, but there's something unwavering there, something uncertain. But all of this is a bit uncertain.

Baz's arm is a warm weight around my middle and I can feel his chest pressed to my back and it's pulling up all sorts of questions I can't even begin to give answers to. I can't deny it makes me feel  _ something,  _ though, I threw away that chance when I was arguing with him in class.

Baz scoffs, "if that's what your opening with I can't wait to see how the rest of this conversation goes."

I'd pull away from him if it wouldn't literally kill me. "You're such an ass."

"Apparently you like that."

I thought Baz bringing that up would shut me up and fluster me and he'd use that to get another few shots in. It just annoys me right now though, maybe because no one's around to hear it.

"I don't know what I like," I basically snarl back at him sounding very aggressive for a statement that echoes confusion.

I half expect him to push it again but he doesn't, "I know we're the furthest thing from friends, Snow, but whatever you are and whatever you like, it's your business and I'm not going to tell anyone."

It's an unexpected bit of kindness from him, if it can even be considered kindness, but looking back on our years of knowing each other, of constant antagonism, brawls and cutting remarks, it's probably the nicest thing he's ever said to me.

"Why?" I somehow manage to choke out.

He gives a long slow sigh. "Is your opinion of me actually that low?"

"Yes," I say immediately, feeling him bristle a little behind me, "you tried to kill me."

I can practically hear him rolling his eyes like an attempt on my life means little but he doesn't respond in favour of setting us down on the floor of the astronomy tower. Actually, setting us down. I've seen him play, most of the time he's off his broom before it's stopped moving or his feet have hit the ground. He never trips of stumbles, graceful as ever. Merlin, I hate that about him.

But he sets us down this time, maybe because he knows I'm not used to flying or because he doesn't want to hop off and risk me commandeering his broom.

I'm not sure if it's what pushes me over the edge. Or if it was the proximity or his promise not to tell anyone, but when he asks if I'm ready to talk, I just shake my head. "Not anymore."

Baz raises an eyebrow at me again, "just after a free ride back to the castle?"

"No, just made up my mind about something."

I step towards him and he doesn't step back. I'm not sure if it means he wants this or if he won't step any closer to the railing for fear of me tossing him over it.

He just narrows his grey eyes at me and I place a hand on the back of his neck, tilting his head down to meet me. He lets me, not providing an ounce of resistance.

His gaze flits over my face for a moment and whether he means it or not his tongue darts out to wet his lips. I almost ask him if he wants this, despite all the signs that he very much so does.

I hesitate a moment more, his mouth close enough to feel his breath across my face but not so close as to accidentally brush with mine.

But then there's a tentative hand on my waist and he gives a small nod I'd have missed if I weren't watching him so intently. My question dies on my lips, already answered. I stop thinking and just do it.

When his lips meet mine it's still slow and unsure but it's far from bad. I don't think he's ever kissed anyone before.

I wonder for a moment if it's because he's a vampire, after all, who would want to kiss a vampire? No matter how fit or good at Quidditch or razor sharp he is.

But I'm kissing him and he  _ is _ a vampire and I very much want to be kissing him. So, I push that thought from my mind.

When I pull back Baz's grey eyes open a moment after mine do but he still doesn't say anything. For once Baz Pitch is blissfully silent, I'd half expected him to say something shitty about my technique or take us back to my earlier comment about not being gay. But he just watches me, silently, like he's waiting for me to push him away.

Instead, I pull him closer, the hand against his neck threading fingers through dark hair as it rests there and my free hand making a grab at the front of his robes to close what little distance there is between us.

He doesn't protest, he just hooks an arm around the back of my neck and gives as good as he gets.

**Baz**

Apparently, the key to me and Snow getting along is the both of us keeping our mouths shut. Metaphorically. We seem to get along swimmingly when we're both too busy doing other things with our mouths to bother talking.

Eventually, though, Snow's hunger gets the better of him. I expect his response to it to be getting off me, telling me to never speak of this again and heading down to the great hall for dinner. Instead, he asks, "do vampires not need to eat?"

"What?" is all I can manage through the slight haze that having Simon Snow seated in my lap brings. Eventually, he'd pulled me down to the floor with my back against the railing so he could sit on top of me and I certainly wasn't going to object to that.

"I never see you eat when we're at meals, do you not need to?"

I hesitate a moment, my hand retreating from around Snow. I see his face fall a moment, obviously expecting me to push him off and storm away. Instead, I revert to my usual snarl, "of course I need to eat, Snow."

He seems unperturbed by my sudden change in temper, though after that I don't see why he would be. He watches me for a moment just thinking before he says, "You want me to show you how to get into the kitchens?"

My eyebrows dart up in surprise more than sardonic amusement for once. "What?"

"You know, for someone so smart you've been saying that a whole lot. Come on." he gets to his feet and offers me a hand. I swat it away in favour of helping myself to my feet and picking up my broom.

I wonder if maybe that was too close to rejection for Snow because he bumps his shoulder with mine but makes no other effort to so much as allude to anything else that transpired as we head down the stairs and to the kitchens in a stony silence.

I don't actually know where the kitchens are so I just follow Snow. I should have known it would be close to the Hufflepuff dormitory, how else would he have known about it? Though I've seen Snow eat and I wouldn't put it past him to turn the school upside down looking for a place to get more food.

Snow stops at a painting of a bowl of fruit and reaches a hand out to run his fingers over the pear. It promptly turns into a doorknob. "You just have to tickle the pear," he tells me cheerfully before opening the door.

How he can be so polite, nice even, after everything we've been through astounds me.

I don't respond. I'm still not sure what to say, what this means for us. I've only ever spoken to Snow in cruel jabs but even that doesn't feel appropriate right now.

"Master Snow," a house elf greets him with a bow.

"You can call me Simon you know." I wouldn't be surprised if he said that every time he came down here. I suppose there's not much point in telling him they won’t listen. "Could we grab some leftovers after dinner is done?"

The house elf cheerfully agreed, not stopping to ask questions and rattling off something about making Snow a fresh batch of those scones he liked so much.

I take a moment to look Snow over. His school uniform isn't designed like my quidditch robes so it's rumpled and creased and very much sporting evidence of our earlier altercation. I'm overcome with the urge to tuck Snow's shirt back in but he sees me glaring at its hem and rolls his eyes.

"So, what is this?" he asks slowly, gesturing between the two of us, making it unmistakable what he's referring to.

My grip tightens on my broom a moment but I don't let my expression change. "You tell me, Snow, you're the one who kissed me." And who is now getting me dinner, I mentally add.

"Exactly," he says and for a moment I'm dumb enough to think he's agreeing with me, "you know what I want, what do you want?"

"I thought you didn't know what you wanted," I mutter, not meeting his eye and watching the house elves scurry about, trying to seem as disinterested in this conversation as possible.

His features contort into a scowl. "Why are you making this so difficult?"

I look at him properly this time. Why  _ am _ I making this so difficult? Because it can't happen? Because it shouldn't happen? Because it won’t really happen?

"You don't want this?" he asks slowly, taking a step back and turning to go.

"Simon, I-" I don't know how to finish that. I do want this. I can't just say that though. It's not that simple.

He stops anyway, I didn't think he would and he turns back to face me. He looks like he's about to say something but a moment later a house elf runs up holding a tray of steaming scones and Simon promptly forgets me.

He sits down and starts slathering butter on one, giving the house elf a slew of excited 'thank you's.

I sit down beside me and he holds out half a scone. I don't mean to rebuke him this time. I don't want to. But there's enough butter on that scone to shave a decade off my life so I take a fresh one off the tray. Unsurprisingly Snow looks a little put out but he doesn't say anything.

I eat with my hand covering my mouth but I only have one scone and Snow is much too enamoured with them to even notice my habits. When the great hall is cleared and everything suddenly appears on the tables that stretch the kitchen Snow stands and starts gathering things on a plate.

I do the same and eat better than I have since coming to Hogwarts, hand still over my mouth but Snow neglects to comment on it and for that I am thankful.

"Hey," he says, grabbing my arm in the corridor as we exit the kitchens, "you still haven't answered my question. Do you want this?"

"Do you?" I fire back even though I know it's not what he wants to hear.

Snow groans and drags a hand down his face. I expect him to run off again. To throw in the towel and leave me be. He just levels a glare at me. "You can be really thick sometimes you know that?" he tells me, voice heavy with exasperation, "A Ravenclaw and a prefect and, let's face it, probably head boy next year. Got O's in all you O.W.Ls, coming first in the year and you're still so fucking thick."

I just stare at him as he gives me what must be the most flattering stream of what I think is meant to be insults.

"I told you what I smelt in potions, I just had dinner with you and I  _ kissed  _ you and you still can't figure it out?" He's a little red in the face by the time he finishes and draws in a breath but I'm not sure if it's from embarrassment or anger.

I already stopped him from walking away once I doubt, I'll succeed again, so this time I speak up. "Yes." He just scowls at me in response so I clarify, "yes I want this."

I see his expression soften for a moment and he nods. “Okay. Good. Me too in case you still haven't got that."

I don't acknowledge the jab even if I still can't say with absolute certainty that I have got it. Simon Snow has always been so out of reach to me this doesn't feel real. "Thank you," I say eventually, motioning to the kitchens with a flick of my head.

Snow shrugs, "it was win-win, you got to eat and I caught a glimpse of your fangs and confirmed my suspicions." He must see the mortification on my face because he quickly adds, "don't worry, I kind of like them," and then I can do nothing but roll my eyes. "You wanna come back to my room? The rest of them won’t be turning in for a while."

This seems like a bad idea, frankly, if I were going to announce our new relationship (if you can call it that), I'd prefer to do it on my own terms. But Snow is looking at me hopefully and I've had enough of making him work for me tonight. "Sure," I say slowly and Snow shoots me a grin and grabs my hand, pulling me down the hall.

If any of the Hufflepuffs have anything to say about one of their own dragging a Ravenclaw in full quidditch garb and still clutching a broom, they don't, though I'm not sure if that's tact or me shooting them looks.

True to his word, there's no one in Snow's room and he practically throws himself in bed, not even bothering to take off his shoes before leaning up against the wall and patting the spot beside him. I take it without complaint this time.

"This doesn't mean I'm helping you in potions, Snow" I warn him. I might like him. Love him even, but I will not let him drag my grades down.

"Oh, never mind then, get out," he says, but he wraps his arms around one of mine and makes it clear I'm not supposed to be going anywhere. His fingers reach down my arm to tangle in mine, he waits a beat then speaks again, "It's Simon," he tells me, though he doesn't seem all that annoyed, "there's no one else here, you can say it."

I lean over and press a quick kiss to the mole on his cheek. It's short and soft and I draw back quickly. Snow has instigated everything thus far and I'm still uncertain about all this. "Not a chance, Snow."

He squeezes my hand in what I think is encouragement or assent, a silent prompt that he doesn't mind if I kiss him first. "Hey, what did the amortentia smell like to you?"

I look at him a moment and he meets my gaze, just waiting, looking nervous enough that I might think for a moment he actually doesn't know the answer to that. "Smoke and Hogwarts soap and sour cherry scones."

Snow wrinkles his nose, "Don't lie to me, you don't even like those scones."

"You're right, but I'm not lying," I tell him, mustering every ounce of courage I have for this next bit. "You, Simon. It smelt like you."


End file.
